Part 4 (2/2)
”It's a bad night for anybody to be roaming around the hills.” Bruce was adjusting the lamp chimney and putting it back on the shelf, but he noticed that Slim's face was working as it did in his rages, and he sighed; they were in for another row.
”You think you're so almighty wise; I don't need _you_ to tell me when it's fit to be out.”
Bruce did not answer, but his black eyes began to s.h.i.+ne. Slim noticed it with seeming satisfaction, and went on:
”I saw them pet sheep of yourn comin' down. Did you give 'em salt?”
Bruce hesitated.
”Yes, Slim, I did. I suppose I shouldn't have done it, but the poor little devils----”
”And I'm to go without! Who the ---- do you think you are to give away my salt?”
”_Your_ salt----” Bruce began savagely, then stopped. ”Look here, Slim!”
His deep voice had an appealing note. ”It wasn't right when there was so little, I'll admit that, but what's the use of being so onery? I wouldn't have made a fuss if you had done the same thing. Let's try and get along peaceable the few days we'll be cooped up in here, and when the storm lets up I'll pull out. I should have gone before. But I don't want to wrangle and quarrel with you, Slim; honest I don't.”
”You _bet_ you don't!” Slim answered, with ugly significance.
Bruce's strong, brown fingers tightened as he leaned against the window cas.e.m.e.nt with folded arms. His silence seemed to madden Slim.
”You bet you don't!” he reiterated, and added in shrill venom: ”I might 'a' knowd how 'twould be when I throwed in with a mucker like you.”
”Careful, Slim--go slow!” Bruce's eyes were blazing now between their narrowed lids, but he did not move. His voice was a whisper.
”That's what I said! I'll bet your father toted mortar for a plasterer and your mother washed for a dance hall!”
Slim's taunting, devilish face, corpse-like in its pallor above his black beard, was all Bruce saw as he sprang for his throat. He backed him against the door and held him there.
”You miserable dog--I ought to kill you!” The words came from between his set teeth. He drew back his hand and slapped him first on the right cheek, then on the left. He flung Slim from him the length of the cabin, where he struck against the bunk.
Slim got to his feet and rushed headlong toward the door. Bruce thought he meant to s.n.a.t.c.h his rifle from the rack, and was ready, but he tore at the fastening and ran outside. Bruce watched the blackness swallow him, and wondered where he meant to go, what he meant to do on such a night. He was not left long in doubt.
He heard Slim coming back, running, cursing vilely as he came. The shaft of yellow light which shot into the darkness fell upon the gleaming blade of the ax that he bore uplifted in his hand.
”Slim!”
The answer was a scream that was not human. Slim was a madman! Bruce saw it clearly now. Insanity blazed in his black eyes. There was no mistaking the look; Slim was violently, murderously insane!
”I'm goin' to get you!” His scream was like a woman's screech. ”I've meant to get you all along, and I'm goin' to do it now!”
”Drop it, Slim! Drop that ax!”
But Slim came on.
Instinctively Bruce reached for the heavy, old-fas.h.i.+oned revolver hanging on its nail.
Slim half turned his body to get a longer, harder swing, aiming as deliberately for Bruce's head as though he meant to split a stick of wood.
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